


The Road of Excess

by thefudge



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood and Gore, But also deeply weirdly in love, Dark Rey, Dark Side Rey, Emperor Ren, Empress Rey, F/M, Fucking like Demons, Rey says yes, Star Wars: The Last Jedi Spoilers, The Dark Side of the Force, but not dark in the traditional way, imagine beyonce's drunk in love x 100 sins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: TLJ AU. They thread up the stairs, her hand in the crook of his arm, two indistinguishable figures, two halves of the same perfect, rotten whole. (Rey says yes)





	The Road of Excess

**Author's Note:**

> haha, what did yall expect I would write? Empress Rey is my jam.

_“The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”  -_ William Blake 

 

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The first thing she does as empress is change the name of her constituents. No longer the First Order, but the _New_   Order.

She does not bargain or barter. Canto Bight and many other systems burn. She kills all the slavers by wrenching out their hearts from their chests. It takes practice at first, because sinews and ligaments cling to the body. But eventually, she gets the hang of it. She lines them up in the throne room and watches them beg for their lives. The children they like to abuse sit in the raised stands above and clap politely. They all wear New Order uniforms.

Kylo Ren watches his beloved’s wrists. They are so thin and coarse in their violence. He is in love with their white motion. The way each movement of her hand is followed by the thud of a body. His face is shuttered; he must not reveal anything to their subjects, though he is consumed by thirst. Even when she is but a few steps away from him, he aches.

 

 

She kneels in front of him, accepting the small iridescent crown he places on top of her head. It suits her perfectly. He knows her tastes, he knows she enjoys simplicity. There are three precious stones wrought into the crown. Two sapphires and a black, charred rock that glints like obsidian.

It is her parents – that rock.

They traveled to the unplotted grave together. They used the Force in tandem, combed it into a dark web and merged her parents’ shallow bones together. Until all that remained was this black pebble. 

 

 

(She thanks her parents now, thanks their methomania, their reckless greed. Without their desire for debauchery, without their neglect of human life, she would not be sitting in his lap, they would not be holding the scepter together. Their subjects would not be able to witness their glory) 

 

 

He kneels by her side, arranging the train of her dress. It is only an excuse to snake his fingers around her bare ankle, to press his feverish lips against her thigh.  

Rey shivers, fingers treading through his hair. She has never been dressed in finery, and while Kylo respects her wishes for plainness, he wants her skin to only touch silk.

“We will be late,” she murmurs as he sinks his fingers into her hips and buries his face between her legs.

“Let them wait,” he whispers hotly against her center, making her spin.

 

 

When she says _yes_ , she is sobbing wretchedly. She’s already mourning her death. In order to do what must be done, you have to let the past die. If there must be an order in the galaxy, let it be _her_ order. The Resistance will thank her.  She is doing this for them, for all of them.

She slips her hand into his gloved fingers.

Kylo Ren drags her forward, inexorably.

He cups her cheeks and presses his thumb right under her eye, applying pressure, almost blinding her.

“You are _not_ doing this for them,” he rasps, clutching her face like he is about to tear it in half.

Rey wishes him dead, but she also wishes to be inside his corpse. When the time comes, she wants to taste the blood drying in his veins. She shudders at her own desires. He wants the same thing, so perfectly reflected in his bottomless eyes. She sinks into the dark pit on the island. The thousand Reys greet her like an old friend. But now, there are a thousand Bens too.

They are like worms, feeding on each other, multiplying their own filth. Glorious filth.   

She grits her teeth and leans into his touch. “No, I’m not.”  

 

 

They enjoy watching Hux writhe in pain. He is their little play-thing, their un-child.

They lie in bed together, his knuckles grazing her thigh. They watch the pitiful man’s frame contort under their Force. He screams and slashes at the floor with his nails.

Rey whispers something in Kylo’s ear. He smiles a cold, unbecoming smile. She loves how ugly he can be.

Hux is lifted towards the ceiling until his body is pinned. He is raised above their bed.

Rey strokes her beloved’s chin, feeling the softness and the needles underneath. Kylo grips her to him, lets her straddle him.

Hux watches their violent copulation. It is always – _always_ – crude and inelegant.

For all their pomp and circumstance when they show themselves in public, the emperor and the empress are animals in private. They claw and scratch and spit at each other, consuming every fluid, tainting every embrace. They can’t get enough of each other as the Force drunkenly surges through them, fueling the inexhaustible lust. 

Imagine children in a cage, locked in a hideous dance, with grime under their nails and blood between their teeth. 

It is unbearable to watch. But Hux’s eyes remain open, for his lids have been peeled back forcefully.

Hux swallows the bile in his throat as the empress moans and tips her head back. The emperor sinks his teeth into her breast.

 

 

Eventually, there is no purpose for the Resistance anymore. It cannot withstand her deadly good will. She has brought peace and order to the galaxy. Everyone is fed and obedient. Every child has a parent. Every machine works to the betterment of the world. She reforms entire planets and destroys those who might seek independence. Jakku is one of the first to be obliterated. A cluster of minerals and rocks and crystals spills against the black expanse. She feels Kylo’s possessive hold around her waist as they stare at the destruction.

“Well done, my love,” she murmurs, because it was he who oversaw the construction of a new death ray. It was baptized _Rey_ , for her sake. The ray called Rey. This is her embodiment.

 

 

They train together on Mustafar. Kylo takes her there in the first year of their reign. He wants to show her the place where his grandfather lost his body to vanity.

They stand on the scorching mound of embers and stare at the rivers of lava, hands interlocked.

They imagine Darth Vader writhing at their feet, fire consuming his flesh.

Rey smiles to herself. “We’re stronger than that.”

And to prove it, they both sink down directly on the acid terrain.

He presses her into the burning flames and she drags her nails against his back as he takes her in an ungovernable frenzy.

 

 

 

He likes to watch her capillaries explode. When the Force bonds them this deeply, when his cock is inside her and she’s got her fingers in his mouth, their skins become transparent, the blood vessels break inside of them. They never really come down from this terrible high. They’re always cresting, always going over the edge.

“Rey,” he whispers hoarsely.

She rises precariously, her body still wracked with ecstasy, and pads quickly to the lake’s shore. She sprays cool water on her face. Then she cups her fist and brings some to him.

He drinks thirstily, licking her palm.  

She can’t believe they’re here, in the middle of paradise. Naboo is an oasis and they are treading on ghosts. 

 

 

On her name-day (which was established in the second year of their reign as an intergalactic holiday), he reveals he has kept Unkar Plutt hidden away. Kept him alive on his own measly rations. 

He is a husk of his former self, a barely enervated flesh. Disgusting and pitiful.

Rey's lips part in sweet surprise.

"He is yours, my love," Kylo says, bowing to her, his mistress, the Sun.

Rey grips the arms of the throne. He is her famished Moon. "I want you to do it. I want to watch." 

His fists clench at his sides. Her eyes flash with desire. He drinks it in. 

 

 

She thinks, _it must have happened on the throne._  They have fucked each other inside out, have knocked their cavities like meteors. But it must have been that late court session, when they had dismissed everyone except the guards.  When he had raised her above him and she had sunk on his cock like it was the first time and he had whispered adoration against her lips. She had felt his seed inside her burst like an early bloom. And maybe she had known by then that life was formed. 

But it's late June when she finally tells him. His eyes widen like a young boy's. For the first and only time in his life, he is Ben.

The light whispers like a vagrant at the edge of their joy. They cut it up into pieces, turn its glow into nourishing darkness. Let no one say they do not strike a balance. 

Their child will not be Skywalker or Solo. Their child will need no fairy-tale name. Their child will need nothing. 

He rests his hand on her stomach and the Bond tells the life inside to grow:  _for you will inherit the world, and you will bleed it dry._

 

 

 

The crowd parts reverently, heads bowed, knees prostrate. He is known to have once choked a man for staring at her too intently.  

The emperor and empress are attending the Opera.

He is coldly handsome in sumptuous black robes. She is dressed in a stark red gown that confines her throat but leaves her arms bare. Her hair is twisted up in a simple coil because the back of her throat belongs to his fingers. During the performance, his hand rests on the base of her skull. She thrums with pleasure in the dark.

They thread up the stairs, her hand in the crook of his arm, two indistinguishable figures, two halves of the same perfect, rotten whole.


End file.
